


Evolve on a Word

by threerings



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: A little angst, Anal Sex, Bottom Quentin Coldwater, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Gay Character, Canon Queer Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Miscommunication followed by Communication, My version of Q and El getting together during the mosaic quest, Oral Sex, Quentin POV, Rimming, Rough Sex, Set in Fillory during 3x05, Sex while arguing, Top Eliot Waugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 17:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17626865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threerings/pseuds/threerings
Summary: Set during 3x05: A Life in the DaySo, he didn’t plan it...didn’t plan to kiss Eliot on their one-year anniversary.  But he didn’t have to.  All he had to do was take an instant to mentally say ‘fuck it’ and throw a year of caution to the wind.





	Evolve on a Word

**Author's Note:**

> My mental clock told me I'd been working on this fic for about a month and a half...but I started it in SEPTEMBER!! Essentially right after I watched 3x05 for the first time. I've been working on it off and on since then. Finally got it into postable shape, and I figure we all need some indulgent Queliot fic right about now. I also wanted to get this out there before canon got any more fucked.

Quentin had been thinking about it for a while. It would have been surprising if he hadn’t been, honestly. Sharing a bed with your very attractive friend who you once fucked when you were super drunk for a year means...well, it means thinking about what would happen if you rolled over and pressed your dick into his back. Or if you “accidentally” let him find you jerking off. Or if you just leaned over and kissed him when he was trying to concentrate on something. 

Quentin had been over all the reasons those are terrible ideas. And all the reasons he should absolutely not decide to seduce his best friend. Hell, his _only_ friend now they were here. 

But it doesn’t stop it from feeling more and more inevitable. So, he didn’t plan it...didn’t plan to kiss Eliot on their one-year anniversary. But he didn’t have to. All he had to do was take an instant to mentally say ‘fuck it’ and throw a year of caution to the wind. 

God, it was worth it. Only kissing and it was already so fucking worth it. Eliot’s a great kisser. That’s not a surprise. But it was the _way_ Eliot kissed him that made him tremble, down deep in his core. The tender way he brushed his fingers along his jaw, the minute indications of uncertainty, as if Eliot expected him to change his mind, to pull away. He wasn’t about to, though, and to indicate it he pressed closer, his knees sliding against Eliot’s, his arm snaking around Eliot’s waist. He didn’t feel any hesitation, not after wanting this for so long and it finally feeling _right._ Like maybe he’d finally got his timing right and this was _the_ moment. 

They stripped each other of their shirts, hands tugging and fumbling as they continued to kiss. Quentin ran his fingers through the hair on Eliot’s chest, enjoying the soft texture over the hard muscle. When their mouths broke apart to gasp for air, Eliot dove down and affixed his mouth to one of his nipples. Quentin howled a moan out into the night air, no reason to strangle it back. No one to hear them there. 

Eliot was on a mission, for he soon had Quentin’s pants down and was pressing kisses to his cock. The contrast of the cold night air and Eliot’s hot mouth was thrilling, making goosebumps break out across his skin. “Fuck, El,” he groaned, head falling back as Eliot took him between his lips, deep into his mouth, a cocky grin breaking out on his lips despite the cock between them. 

“Fuck, you’re good at that, you smug bastard,” he breathed, but there was no heat to his tone. He buried a hand in Eliot’s thick hair, something he’d been imagining for way too long. 

It wasn’t long before he felt like he was about to come. He tugged on El’s hair till he let his cock pop free. “I’m close,” he said in explanation. 

“Good,” replied Eliot and didn’t give him a chance to reply before he swallowed him down again, all the way to the root. Quentin opened his mouth to say he didn’t want to come yet, he wasn’t ready to be finished, but all he could manage was a choking sound. Eliot did _something_ with his tongue and then Quentin was shooting down his throat, body jerking like he’d been hit with a thousand volts. 

Eliot swallowed like a champ, licked him clean and then sat up, eyes dancing. “Happy anniversary,” he said again, like this was all part of his plan for the evening. Hell, maybe it was. Quentin pushed himself up from his elbows and reached for his wine, taking a large sip. Then he smiled at Eliot and reached for the fastening of his pants. 

“Your turn,” he said. He thought Eliot was going to speak and then he didn’t, but he didn’t let himself hesitate. The truth was, he was a little nervous, not being overly experienced at this. He tried not to think of how many times he’d heard Eliot criticize some guy’s technique the next day. He failed, of course, but he tried not to let it phase him too much. Surely after a year in the woods, Eliot wouldn’t be _that_ picky. 

He tugged at the button of Eliot’s jeans clumsily, until suddenly the button popped off into his hand. “Oops,” he said, nervous laughter bubbling up as he showed Eliot the button. 

“Q,” said El, disapproving, pushing the button away and out of his hand. “Forget the stupid button. These things are in pieces anyway. Get to it!” There was laughter in his eyes, though, behind his fierce words. Quentin’s stomach flipped at the slight growl in his tone, the insistent press of Eliot’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him down. 

In another moment he had Eliot’s pants open and his dick in his hand. Some part of his mind compared the present reality to his melting dream memory of their previous time together and was surprised that he hadn’t been exaggerating El’s size. His cock was thick, heavy and hot in his hand, and a good length. Not, perhaps, porn star cock, but the biggest Quentin had ever seen in real life. He opened as wide as he could and fell on it hungrily. 

He felt like he should maybe be ashamed of the shameless moan he gave as his mouth filled with El’s cock, but the wine and the months of building tension won out and he decided he was too happy to care. 

Eliot’s hands sank into his hair, pulling it back from his face. “Look at me,” said Eliot, with a soft tug. Quentin did, tilting his head up with some difficulty, Eliot’s cock hard against the roof of his mouth. “Fuck, that’s hot,” whispered El, before tilting Quentin’s head back down to a more comfortable angle for serious dick sucking. 

He did his best, trying to use his tongue and lips and suction all at once to make it as mind-blowing as possible for Eliot. If he’d had to judge from the grip of the fingers on his scalp and the small noises coming from Eliot’s lips, he’d say he was succeeding. He pressed forward to take him deeper, the head of that thick cock sliding into his throat, choking him. He struggled against the urge to gag, bobbed several times before having to pull off. His eyes watered and a couple tears rolled down his face, to his surprise. 

Eliot tilted his face up, brushing at a tear with one thumb. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, nothing but concern in his face. 

“Yeah,” he insisted. “Fine. Uh, you?” he added, his clumsy attempt to ask for feedback on his performance. 

“Me?” Eliot’s mouth quirked up on one side. “I’m fucking spectacular right now. Or… nearly.” Quentin grinned involuntarily, cheeks heating with pride. He ducked his head and went back to work. He took Eliot as deeply as he could several more times, enjoying the overwhelming feeling of it, the near-choking sensation. 

“Fuuck, Q,” moaned Eliot, his hands loosening some, his head falling back as his hips drove up. 

Quentin had a sudden thought, something he’d imagined quite a bit during the long nights in their shared bed. He raised his head. “Hey, El?” he asked.

“Mmm, what?”

“Youwannafuckme?” he asked, slurring with nerves, holding his breath once he’d finished. He panted as he waited for Eliot’s response. The other man seemed surprised, as he just blinked down at him for a few moments.

“Umm, _yes._ ” Eliot said finally. “Yes, Q, definitely yes.” Quentin grinned and started to push himself up, but El stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “However, _first_ I want to come in your mouth.” 

It was Quentin’s turn to blink dumbly, blindsided by how much those words turned him on. “I’m too fucking close and if I’m going to fuck you, I’m not fucking rushing it,” Eliot went on to explain. 

That left nothing for Quentin to do but take Eliot’s cock back into his mouth. Their exchange seemed to have lifted the last of their restraint because the blow job became nearly frenzied after that. It wasn’t long before Eliot was crying out and, true to his word, filling Quentin’s mouth with hot fluid. He swallowed against it and then reached for his glass of wine as Eliot went limp against the tiles. 

Quentin couldn’t help smiling at the sight of his friend looking slightly stunned, his pants still open and cock exposed. It was a good look for him: thoroughly debauched. Eliot reached out a loose hand towards him. “Wine?” he begged. Quentin took pity on him and passed him his glass. 

Once he had gathered himself, Eliot finished stripping off his remaining clothes and stood, completely bare. His pale skin glowed in the firelight and it took a few moments for Quentin to register that the other man was headed towards their cabin. Eliot looked back at him with an exasperated expression and Quentin blushed to be caught staring. 

He followed Eliot inside, though he kept his pants on for the walk. Once inside, however, Eliot tsked at his only semi-nude state and tugged roughly at his pants. Between the two of them they got him undressed, and after a pause for a lingering kiss, Eliot pointed imperiously at the bed.

“On your stomach,” he said, and Quentin shivered a bit. He hoped it looked like he was just cold. He _was_ , of course, but mostly he wasn’t entirely sure what he thought about Eliot ordering him around. Part of him was _all_ in favor, but part of him was disappointed in the lack of...intimacy...implied by the perfunctory command. 

Maybe Eliot saw his flicker of hesitation because he caught his face in his hand and tilted it up. “You ever done this before?” he asked. 

“Uh...no,” admitted Quentin. “Not exactly.” He shrugged apologetically. 

“Right. Uh, what does that mean?” 

Quentin blushed and looked away as he responded, “Umm, not with...a guy, at least.” Eliot frowned for a minute, confused, before realization dawned. 

“Ah. Gotcha. Got a secret box under your bed back at Brakebills?” Q felt his cheeks heat even further but didn’t deny it. Eliot leaned down and kissed him again. He pulled back slowly and smiled. “On your stomach,” he repeated, eyes twinkling. “Unless you change your mind. That’s allowed.” 

Quentin smiled reflexively and then looked away to break the eye contact. “No. No, I’m good.”

“Good,” repeated Eliot, and then swatted him on the ass. Quentin gave a wordless complaint, but he stumbled against the bed and climbed up onto it. He lay face down, the sheets of the bed slightly rough against his semi-hard cock. 

The mattress sank with Eliot’s weight and then he was hovering over Quentin, his body heat just discernible in the cool air. He placed a kiss on his spine, between his shoulder blades. Then started working his way down, pressing quick, warm kisses all down the length of his spine. Until he reached his tailbone, when Eliot began a more enthusiastic exploration of the curves of his ass: kissing, sucking, and biting at the flesh of first one cheek and then he other. 

Quentin’s breath came shallowly and ragged already, just from this, and he was fully hard again. When Eliot grabbed both cheeks in his hands and parted them so he could delve between with his tongue, Quentin gasped loudly and shuddered. Eliot maintained a firm grip and pulled his hips back while swiping his tongue across his hole. Quentin moaned, surprised at the strength of his reaction. Eliot kept working at him with his tongue, squirming the tip into his opening. He felt like he should protest, maybe, or tell El he didn’t need to do that, but it felt just too damn _good._ He could feel his body opening up, Eliot pressing deeper, everything getting slick and it made him want so much more. 

After a time, Eliot sat back. “This is going to feel a little weird, okay, don’t freak.” Quentin craned his head around to see what was going on and could just make out El’s hands moving to cast a spell. And then he gave a grunt of surprise as warm wetness filled his ass. It felt _wrong_ and he shot Eliot a look.

“What? Lube spell,” he explained. Oh. “So much more convenient with magic around...Just relax,” Eliot continued, pressing him back down. Next he pressed one of his long fingers into him, the rimjob and magical lube combining to make it easy. He quickly added a second finger. This was a more familiar feeling for Quentin, and he relaxed into the stretch. Eliot fingered him expertly, pressing and massaging the muscles around his hole. When Quentin started to feel breathless, he pressed deeper, seeking and then finding his prostate. Quentin gave a shameless sob as he pressed into the sensitive spot, jerking his hips and grinding his cock against the bed. 

“That’s it, Q,” coaxed Eliot as he continued to stimulate him. 

“Fuck,” he spit, before gasping again as El stroked along the same spot mercilessly. He fisted his hands into the sheets, as the stimulation grew more intense, approaching the point of too much. He tried to form words, to beg Eliot for a break, to warn him he was going to come if he kept on, but all he managed was a drawn-out whimper, and Eliot didn’t take the hint. He laughed softly as Quentin squirmed, feeling pinned by those two fingers stroking one-two against his prostate over and over. 

Finally the fingers stilled, and Q shuddered for several seconds more as he struggled to get control of himself. “ _Fuck_ , El!”

“Complaining?” asked a far-too-smug Eliot. Quentin couldn’t come up with an answer for that, so he just made a frustrated sound. After another moment, when he was finally starting to relax again, Eliot added a third finger, getting back to the business of stretching him out. The burn of the stretch felt clarifying after the not-quite-enough stimulation of the prostate massage. It pulled him back from the edge a bit. 

Eliot pulled out and the mattress bounced as he shifted around. There was a pause and then he said, “Over, I think,” and tugged at Quentin’s hip to roll him onto his back. For the first time Quentin had to meet his eyes and he felt his face and neck heat from the scrutiny of El looking at him. 

Then he was distracted by taking in all of Eliot’s body as he knelt between his legs, cock jutting out proudly towards him, the picture of _intention._ Q’s stomach flipped from anticipation of what was about to become reality. 

“Alright?” Eliot asked and he nodded quickly. He met his eyes again for a brief instant. Eliot pressed gently on his inner thighs, pressing his legs apart, sliding his body closer. Fuck, he wanted him. In the midst of everything in the last twenty minutes he’d let that fact get buried, but _fuck_ he wanted El inside him. 

“I want you,” he said, and nearly winced at the way his voice sounded, so sincere. But it seemed to do something to Eliot, whose breath caught and lips curved up. 

“Yeah?” he asked softly, brushing the pad of his thumb against Quentin’s slick entrance. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding, hooking his legs around Eliot and pulling him forward. 

His cock felt huge against his hole, pressing forward gently but insistently. Quentin didn’t think it was going to work, but then it did and the head of Eliot’s cock was inside him. It felt different than fingers, different even than a dildo, bigger and warm and somehow _right._ He knew his mouth gaping like a fish, sucking in air. 

Eliot stroked a hand down his side soothingly. “You okay?” Quentin nodded, still not finding words. Eliot pressed forward, slowly, carefully, and Quentin gave a hum of pleasure. Once past the initial stretch, he felt nothing but satisfaction, like scratching an itch he hadn’t been able to reach. He reached up and grabbed at El’s upper arms, letting his fingers dig in. Eliot shot him another look, wordlessly checking in, but he just nodded and thrust his hips to take him in deeper. 

“God, Q, you feel so fucking good,” Eliot breathed, letting his head hang down as he continued to push the last few inches in. 

“Yeah,” he agreed faintly, meaning to say more, but not able to coordinate his mouth with his breath with his brain. Eliot lowered his body until he was half lying on him, pressed his mouth to his throat hungrily, growling as he nipped and sucked. Quentin shivered and moaned, and then louder as he movement shifted Eliot’s cock inside him. 

That seemed to set him off, because El started moving his hips, rocking gently, clearing holding back. Q appreciated it, liked the way he could savor each shift, each inch dragged out and back into his body. He wanted to remember this, all of it, how it all felt. 

Gradually they both increased their movements, picking up speed, picking up intensity as the need grew. Quentin found himself overwhelmed, but in a good way, the best way. He closed his eyes and just let himself feel: the combination of shuddering, dragging pleasure from Eliot’s cock and the tight, nearly painful pleasure building in his cock and balls. Even without any direct attention his cock was brushing regularly against El’s stomach, his balls bouncing as he was fucked ever more energetically. 

He heard himself making little whimpering noises with every thrust until Eliot’s mouth crashed down on his, open and hot and demanding. Eliot broke away with a gasp, grabbing onto his thigh with one hand and then reaching down and getting the other wrapped around Quentin’s cock. It barely took more than that before Quentin came again, splattering himself in hot droplets. 

Eliot drove himself hard into him, once, twice, as Q continued to ride his orgasm, and then he shouted as well, freezing over him as he jerked his hips. A fierce satisfaction, maybe even a kind of pride filled Quentin, strangely, at the knowledge that Eliot had come inside him. He enjoyed the feel as Eliot shifted back and pulled out, the wetness leaking from him. 

Eliot collapsed beside him with a crash, breathless and sweaty. They both panted into the warm air of the small house, _their_ house, now smelling like sex. 

After a while Eliot turned onto his side and simply looked at him with a quirk of his eyebrow. He looked back, a smile curving up his face in response. Eliot looked gorgeous: naked, sweat gleaming in what light there was, hair mussed, eyes twinkling at him. He looked satisfied and pleased. Proud, even, maybe, and that filled Quentin with a warmth that felt... _new./_ Whatever this was between them...it was different now. He felt excited and afraid in equal measure.

He thought Eliot was going to speak, but then he just leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips instead. They lingered in the kiss, slow and lazy, before El finally pulled back and turned away, going to the basin to clean up. Quentin laid back in their bed and tried not to think too much about the future.

~~~~~

“Fuck!” Quentin cried as he tossed a handful of tiles aside. “Fuck this! Just...argh.” He collapsed to the ground and buried his face in his hands. He heard Eliot moving around the mosaic, the all-too-familiar sound of tiles moving slightly under his feet.

“Let’s take a break,” he said, his bright tone only slightly brittle. Quentin sighed and looked up at Eliot towering over him. 

“It’s just...” He looked around in frustration. “Here we are, in this damned forest, day after day, and somewhere out there life is just...going on without us.” He glanced up to see Eliot frowning. “What if we never solve it? Do we have any clue what we’re doing? After more than a year? So we sit here in the woods forever? While our friends just wait for us to come back?” 

“Q, you know how this timey-wimey shit works...” Quentin waved a hand, cutting him off.

“That’s not the point!” he said, frustrated, pushing himself to his feet. “The point is I’m just... _here_ , while out there somewhere, I feel like my _life_ is going on without me!” He was facing Eliot as he finished, his hand flung out in emphasis, and he was able to see Eliot’s expression shutter, as if a mask lowered into place. 

He turned away, posture stiff. “Well, I don’t know what you want _me_ to do about it,” Eliot said, and walked away toward the cabin. Quentin huffed a breath, feeling bad about unloading on his friend. But after more than a year here, they were used to little tiffs, and knew the best way to deal with each other’s moods was often to give each other space. So Quentin decided to go for a walk, snatching up the water skins to refill at the stream while he was working off his shitty mood. 

That night things were still strained between them. Eliot went to bed first, and Quentin wondered why he still seemed mad. Normally these kinds of little aggravations didn’t last like this, and since they’d started having sex, they’d never gone to bed angry. He felt a sinking, empty hole open up in his chest. Was that all it took to fuck this up? A moment’s frustration? 

He did all the little housekeeping tasks he could find to put off joining Eliot in their shared bed. He scrubbed the pot used for dinner, cleaned his boots, swept the floor, even. Finally there wasn’t anything left to use as a delaying tactic, and he stripped off his clothing slowly. He hesitated when he reached his underwear, but decided he wasn’t going to change his habits just because Eliot was in a snit. So he slid into the bed nude, but didn’t press himself against the other body as he might have otherwise. 

He was just wondering if Eliot was really asleep or not, when the other man turned towards him. He could barely make out his features in the remains of the firelight, so he couldn’t see exactly how Eliot was looking at him. After several still moments, though, Eliot reached for him, pulling him into a fierce embrace. 

Eliot’s lips closed on his with crushing force, his tongue pushing into his mouth before he’d even parted his lips. It took Quentin’s breath away, but sent a pulse of hot desire through his veins. Eliot rolled over until he was lying fully on top of him, his weight pressing him deep into the mattress. There was no chance for Quentin to catch his breath as Eliot bit and sucked and groped at him. It felt desperate. Hungry. Quentin wondered if this was anger, if Eliot was really so furious at him that this was the only way they could be together. 

But the thought fled from him as Eliot ground his rock-hard cock against Quentin’s own erection. Whatever this was, something in Quentin was responding to it, thrilling at the rough handling. 

“Over,” commanded Eliot, his hands grasping his waist to roll him even as he spoke. Quentin went with it, rolling onto his stomach, a pulse of trepidation sounding in his belly. He trusted Eliot, he truly did, but this was a different side of his lover. 

Eliot’s mouth fastened onto the back of his neck, making him moan and arch his spine. He felt Eliot’s cock against his ass, thrusting forward and back, sliding between his cheeks, stuttering with the friction of skin on skin. 

“El?” he asked, voice breathy. He felt the other man push up to his knees and then after a moment felt the flood of slickness inside his body that signified Eliot had cast his lubrication spell. Quentin’s heart thundered in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was more apprehensive or eager for what was coming, or if the nervous fear was feeding the burn of _want_ in his core. 

Eliot’s body lowered back down until he was pressed to his back. His voice rang loud right next to his ear. “Tell me you want me,” he said, voice low and dangerous. 

Quentin panted for a moment, head spinning with so many contradictory and confused emotions. “Yes,” he answered finally, a helpless hiss of surrender to whatever this was. 

Another moment and Eliot’s cock was pressing into him, feeling huge against his unstretched hole. He gasped as the head slipped past the ring of muscle, at the burning of it. Eliot paused, a hand stroking down his side gently. Quentin felt a wave of gratitude at the gesture, which felt like a signal from _his_ Eliot, that everything was alright. He took a couple deep breaths and willed himself to relax. 

Eliot thrust in further, driving another hiss from his throat. Again he paused, and this time a kiss was pressed to the back of his neck. His cock withdrew and then fucked back in, deeper, beginning a rhythm of ever-deepening strokes. Quentin writhed and whimpered throughout, feeling thoroughly lost to the twin sensation of pleasure and the slight pain. 

Once he was all the way inside, Eliot pulled back and then thrust back in hard, much harder than he ever did usually. Quentin screamed: a full-throated cry of release at the intensity of the feeling. And Eliot didn’t stop, but did it again and again, seemingly heedless of the way Quentin scrabbled at the sheets with his hands, or the near sobbing sounds he was making. 

It felt amazing, really. Good, but overwhelming. The edge of pain from the pounding thrusts melted with the shuddering pleasure and left him trembling. But Eliot didn’t seem all that aware of Quentin’s state, or if he was, he didn’t acknowledge him. For the first time, Quentin felt like he was being used by Eliot, just a body being used to get off. The driving of his cock wasn’t hitting any of the angles Eliot usually strove for, and Quentin, though still hard, didn’t feel his orgasm approaching. 

Before too long, Eliot’s rhythm stuttered and with a final punishing thrust he cried out. Quentin felt the hot rush of come inside him as Eliot’s hands closed with bruising strength on his hip and shoulder. He felt Eliot’s hot, panting breaths on the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. After a long frozen moment Eliot moved, pushing back and pulling out of his body with a rush of fluid. Quentin was beginning to feel embarrassed, unsure what to do about his own throbbing cock, when Eliot roughly flipped him onto his back. He made a surprised noise that became a moan as Eliot swallowed down his cock without a moment of hesitation. 

Eliot sucked him like his life depended on it. It wasn’t artistic or skilled, just a hard suction and an open throat taking his whole length. It felt almost as brutal as the fucking had before, but regardless it was probably not even a minute before he was coming, hot and hard down Eliot’s throat. 

Eliot flopped over to his side, breathing hard, and Quentin stared up at the dark ceiling as he waited for his breathing and heart rate to slow to reasonable speeds. He had no earthly idea what to say after something like that. He didn’t know what was going on in Eliot’s head, to bring that on. But he knew better than to ask, at least right now. 

After a few more minutes Quentin got up and wet a cloth to clean himself up. “Alright?” asked Eliot in a tone that was a touch too casual. 

“Yeah,” he said. He climbed back into bed. “Goodnight?” 

“Yeah. Goodnight,” returned Eliot before rolling to face away from him. Quentin was left feeling disturbingly empty without Eliot’s chest under his head or his arms around him. 

The next day they went back to their routine, both polite, but a coolness lingered between them. He watched Eliot whenever his back was turned, silently willing him to say something-- _anything_ \-- to break the tension. It was afternoon before Quentin finally broke. “Okay, Eliot, what is it?” he asked finally. 

Eliot stood there for a moment, mosaic charts clutched in his hand. Finally he spoke, with the sense of words breaking through after being long suppressed: “We could be done tomorrow for all you know. We can’t just throw away all this time we’ve invested.” He turned and strode across the tiles. “If you want to live your life, live it here,” said Eliot with surprising bitterness.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” he returned, genuinely confused. 

“You know exactly what that means,” snapped Eliot, not looking back at him. Quentin watched his back for a minute or two, seeing the tense way he was holding himself. He thought back to their conversation the previous day, to his words. _I feel like my life is going on without me._ He winced and sighed silently, then stood.

“Oops,” he said deliberately, and kicked over a pile of tiles they’d sorted earlier. Eliot glanced back at him for a moment and he thought he saw him suppress a smile before he turned back again.

Quentin straightened and crossed to where Eliot still stood, seemingly focused on the tiles in front of him. “Hey,” he said, reaching out to touch his arm. Eliot didn’t respond, kept shuffling tiles from one pile to another. “Hey,” he repeated more firmly. “Eliot.” He moved in closer and turned Eliot towards him. The other man looked at him with what he recognized as an entirely constructed casual Eliot expression. 

“Look all I meant yesterday is...” he searched for the right words. “Is I miss our friends, yanno? And I feel like they’re out there without us, and...” he huffed a breath. 

“Yeah, I know,” said Eliot. “You miss Alice.” Quentin looked up at him, startled. 

“Well...yeah...” he began before stopping short. “Is _that_ what this is about?” Eliot shrugged and moved a step away as if he was going to turn back to the table in front of him again. Quentin put out a hand to stop him.

“Hey, El, wait, okay?” he asked. “Seriously, is this...” He paused, taking in the way Eliot was determinately looking over his shoulder and not at him. “I was just frustrated. And worried. That’s kinda what I _do_ , El, in case you haven’t noticed. I worry. I worry about them. Those we left behind. I know you do too.” Eliot gave a head bobble that grudgingly acceded the point. 

“And as for Alice...yeah, I miss her. I missed her before we came here, too. I care about her. I still...I still love her, yeah, but...it’s been a long time. She and I, we’re probably never getting back together, not after everything, and I’ve accepted that.” He moved slightly to try and catch Eliot’s eye. “That has nothing to do with _us._ ” 

Eliot’s face was still shuttered, but his eyes looked...softer. “I _am_ living my life here. And despite being trapped in a drafty one-room cabin in the middle of a forest decades before anyone I care about was born, spending all day working on a psychotically impossible riddle, I’m actually _enjoying_ myself. With you. Because...” He reached for the back of Eliot’s neck and gripped it tight. “I love you, El.” 

He was trembling by the time he finished and his heart was in his throat, pounding at the weight of the words he’d spoken. But Eliot was looking at him with his mouth slightly open. Quentin even wondered if he saw tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but then Eliot was kissing him, deep and messy, arm coming around his waist hard, as if to keep him from escaping. Quentin let himself relax into the embrace, relieved it seemed like his speech hadn’t brought the world crashing down around his ears. 

Instead Eliot led him into the cabin and straight into bed. The sex was entirely different from the night before: unhurried, tender, with lots of eye contact and a few giggles. The air felt heavy in the late afternoon light that streamed through the windows, burnishing Eliot’s skin golden. Eliot left trails of kisses across his skin, and Quentin wondered if it was a silent apology for his rough handling of the day before. Or perhaps Eliot was trying to make a different statement, using his body where Quentin had used words. 

Afterwards, as they lay entwined together, the sweat cooling on their skin, Eliot finally spoke. “I love you, too,” he said. He said it without any particular emphasis, but the words sounded loud in the quiet of the room. “Sorry for being a dramatic bitch.” 

Quentin snorted. “Hey, you know, I’m used to it.” And then tried to duck out of the way as Eliot swatted at him with an open hand. They dissolved into laughter, still wrapped up in each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I considered extending this a lot, through more of their life in Fillory, and/or into the aftermath after they remember it in the "canon" timeline. It's possible I may one day put some of that in a sequel, but for now, for reasons both personal and the current state of canon, I wanted to get this up.
> 
> Title is from the song "Evolve" by Phoria, which is the song that plays during these scenes in the show.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! It's crazy to me that this is my first fic in this fandom considering how much I adore these two and the entire show. You can follow my fangirling at [three--rings.tumblr.com](https://three--rings.tumblr.com/) or [on pillowfort.](https://www.pillowfort.io/threerings)


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